Disillusioned
by Lo.Taylor
Summary: New York is turning out to be everything Jack hoped it would be. He hasn't seen his family in a while, but he has his band. He doesn't have much money, but he's living in the best city in the world.  He doesn't have much, but he has his music.
1. Chapter 1

He fumbled with the lock for a good two minutes before getting the damn key in and pushing the door open. The lights were off but the early morning light streamed through the small windows in the living room, allowing Jack to see the way to his bedroom.

A light switched on just as Jack was stepping over a pile of laundry and empty pizza boxes, a hand held tightly to the back of a chair for balance. He squinted at the blinding light and brought his hand to cover his eyes. With nothing to support him, he stumbled forward, smashing the boxes, and falling into the wall. He managed to catch himself long enough to lean his back against the wall and slide to the ground.

"Turn out the fucking light, man." He closed his eyes as the room began to spin.

He heard a squeak from the couch—which doubled as his roommate's bed—and footsteps headed his way, but the spinning room made him dizzy and confused, and he started to slump to his right, letting alcohol-induced numbness blanket his mind.

"I thought fairies were supposed to be graceful."

It was a minute before Jack could put the pieces together; His mind was fighting sleep and alcohol, and was to struggling to keep up.

His eyes popped open, and he winced at the light. He straightened himself against the wall, and although that brought back his dizziness and a strong bout of nausea, Jack couldn't help but smile up at his brother.

XXX

Jack woke up to silence. He didn't move, didn't even open his eyes, not wanting to upset the balance of the universe and bring an end to the silence in the building. It was never quiet in that damn place. The lady next-door just had a baby, or maybe _eight _babies, with the amount of noise coming from over there. The people upstairs train elephants to stampede, or something equally as loud. And not to mention he lived in an apartment above a popular bar.

His thoughts drifted to the night before. His liver began to hurt just thinking about all the alcohol he drank. He chanced a turn to his side, so as not to cause the organ more damage. It wasn't until then, that he remembered Bobby.

He sat up suddenly, knowing that a quiet-Bobby is never good, and he's actually never seen one before and didn't want to miss the chance.

"Hey." Jack found Bobby sitting in the living room, rifling through CDs.

Bobby nodded his greeting. "You always did listen to crap." He tossed the CDs to the ground, standing and looking at Jack. "Well, what is there to do in this town? I've been waiting all morning for you to wake from your beauty sleep. I want to see what the big fucking deal about New York is."  
Jack smiled at him but couldn't help feel like something was up. There was no television in the house, so Bobby, always the early-riser, had to be bored. And when Bobby was bored, _everybody_ knew it. But there he was, just sitting, quietly rifling through CDs, like it was no big deal.

"Hey. I know I'm pretty but get your eyes off me and go change. Let's go."

It was Bobby's first trip to visit him in New York, but suspicion began to taint Jack's excitement of seeing his brother.

XXX

"If one more person bumps into this goddamn table, I'm gonna bust a cap in their ass."  
Jack and Bobby were sitting in Jack's favorite restaurant in the city. He couldn't afford to eat there often, and it's been a couple months since the last time he'd come, but as he took the first bite of his syrup-drenched, fluffy pancakes, he vowed to come more often.

"I don't see what's so great about New York fucking City. It feels like an overpopulated cage of rats or something, all these people running all over each other." He glared as a group of businessmen walked by.

Jack looked at Bobby, surprised at his insight. Sometimes Jack used that exact analogy. He felt like a rat on one of those wheels, running but never really going anywhere. He was so busy with work and his music, Jack never had time for anything else, and when he looked back at the day, he wondered what he'd done with it.

"What are you so quiet for, kid?"  
Jack glared at him.

Bobby picked up his unused fork and dropped it on the edge of his plate, smiling as Jack winced from the harsh sound.

"I don't know, Bobby. I like the city. Why're you here anyway?" He didn't mean for it to come out so mean (really he did, but he'd felt bad after). But Bobby didn't notice.

"I was in the neighborhood." He was suddenly interested in a man selling hot dogs across the street.

Jack's eyes narrowed. "The neighborhood? You live like a thousand miles away. What happened? You accidentally got on a plane and it just so happened to come to New York?"

Bobby smirked, only making Jack mad. Jack had a sneaking suspicion he knew what Bobby was doing there: checking up on him. And it pissed Jack off. He wasn't a little kid anymore and he'd always hated when his brothers pulled shit like that.

Bobby had done his fair share of threatening or beating up the people he thought weren't good for Jack. He'd even met one of Jack's bullies after school one day. He roughed him up before knocking him into a ditch behind the school, telling him if he messed with Jack again, it'd be his _grave_ he'd be standing in. For all Jack knew, the kid stayed there until school the next morning. Jerry and Angel definitely had their moments too, Angel so much as walking Jack into school on his first day at the new place just to let everyone know who his big brother was—a fact that Jack didn't know at the time, but that embarrassed him to no end when he thought back on it.

"What? I can't visit my baby brother, spend some quality time together?"

Jack was about to lay into him for about calling him the baby, and start a rant about being able to take care of himself, but some lady walking a dog and holding a cell phone to her ear, bumped into their table, knocking Bobby's coffee onto his half-eaten burger.

Jack jumped up when he noticed Bobby standing and reaching for his waistband. Jack grabbed his arm, pulling him away, while managing to pull a twenty out of his pocket and put it on the table.

"Damn it, Bobby. I can't take you anywhere."

XXX

Jack stood in the kitchen of _Ria_, the pizza place he worked at part-time, headphones over half his ears so he could listen to music but still hear orders being called out.

His mind drifted to Bobby as he prepared a medium thin crust. Bobby was wandering around the streets of the city, something Jack couldn't help but worry about. Jack thought about skipping work that night, but thinking of how he'd just spent his last twenty on breakfast that morning, he declined, giving Bobby strict instructions of what parts of New York to stay out of. But thinking of the bail he'd probably have to post to get Bobby out of whatever trouble he will have gotten himself into, Jack was second guessing his decision leave him.

"Hey Mercer, you got plans? We're gonna cut some shit up."

Jack cleared his throat. "Nah, I got family in town, man."

"Family. That's rough, brah."  
"It's not so bad. Least not yet."  
AJ laughed so hard as he began wiping down the work station, that Jack wondered if he was already stoned.

"Yeah, well if you need an escape, you know where we'll be."

Jack stared at him for a minute, wanting to stay and party, but then he thought of Bobby and how he'd undoubtedly see it the wrong way.

Most nights, the guys closing up would stay a couple hours later and cut coke right there on the prep table in the kitchen of _Ria. _Jack would join in most nights, delaying the cold walk home or just for fun after a long day. He wasn't using it as he had before though, during that dark period just after he moved in with Evelyn. No, he was just using it for fun, and he definitely wasn't hooked on the shit. No harm, no foul.

But he doubted Bobby would see it that way.

* * *

I don't own Four Brothers.

Thank you for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

"Get your ass up, princess. No sleeping 'til noon today. Let's go."

Jack, for a second, in his sleep-induced sluggish mind, thought he was back home, at Evelyn's. His cold apartment and hard mattress were replaced with the smell of cinnamon, which Evelyn burned daily in the fireplace, and the heavy weight of the quilt Evelyn had made him. He braced himself for Bobby to grab his ankles and pull him out of bed, or to put ice down his shirt, or simply to demand he get up or get his ass beat. He even recalled a time he was particularly unwilling to wake up, and Bobby had duct taped him to the bed, saying fine, he didn't care and Jack could just stay there all day then.

But Jack remembered he was twenty, not twelve, and they were in Jack's crammed city apartment instead of their cozy Detroit home.

"Who is this crazy fucker, Jack?"

"Who you callin a crazy fucker, you crazy ass mother fucker?"

Jack got out of bed and stepped between his roommate and his brother, knowing the mix of stubborn and hotheaded aggressiveness between the two could be lethal.

"Hank, this is my brother, Bobby. Bobby meet, Hank." Jack's voice was coarse with sleep. He rubbed at his eyes.

"Jeez, Jackie. Go brush your fucking teeth. You stink." Bobby stepped back and Hank laughed, making Jack's face hot.

Jack walked to the bathroom, mumbling curses at his brother. He was a little hung over from the beers he and Bobby had pounded back when they got home the night before, but it wasn't anywhere close to his worst. He'd actually become used to being hung over, and it really didn't faze him at all.

Jack took his time in the shower until he realized Bobby and Hank were alone, most likely talking about him, and there were things each of them knew about Jack that he had no intention for the other to find out, so he hurried through his routine.

"What're you guys doing?" Jack groaned when he saw Bobby sitting in the living room with, not only Hank, but their other two roommates as well.

Bobby smiled hugely at Jack, and Jack hoped he could read his pleading expression. He'd do anything—_anything_—if Bobby just wouldn't say—

"Looks like quite a meat fest ya have here, Jackie. You must be in heaven living with all these guys."

XXX

"Are you sure you wanna go to this thing?" Jack asked for the hundredth time. He and Bobby were walking up Ludlow, heading to meet Jack's friends at a bar.

"I'm starting to get offended, Jack. What? I'm not dressed punk enough for you? Here, lemme use your black eye pencil."

"Whatever, man."

"Look, Jack, I just want to go to this place with you. Everybody talks about how fucking great this city is, and I ain't see shit yet. There better be some damn action at this thing."

Jack didn't respond. He was really happy to be spending time with his brother. Jack and Bobby had never really hung out. They've played hockey, and watched TV, and wrestled each other down to the ground, but they had never gone out with each other to grab a couple of drinks or shoot the shit together. Jack had been too young when Bobby had lived at Evelyn's and then Bobby moved out, and their lives got in the way of them developing that type of friendship some brothers managed to have.

He just hoped Bobby wouldn't embarrass the shit out of him, like he'd done that entire day.

Jack and his roommates had spent the afternoon talking with Bobby. They talked about their first gig and the crazy shit they saw in the city. Bobby shared stories with the boys that Jack hadn't even heard before—stories about chasing people and gunning them down, stories Jack's friends more than likely thought were made up, but Jack knew better. Later, Bobby and Jack went to a hockey game, which Jack had quickly begun to regret suggesting. Bobby, a beer in each hand, decided it was his duty to educate the crowd of Rangers fans on a _real_ hockey team. They both managed to walk out of the stadium none the worse for wear, and Bobby said he wanted to see the people Jack hung out with. As if Jack wasn't needing a hit of something strong already, the idea of Bobby hanging out with his friends, had him absolutely jonesing.

"Jackie!" A few guys yelled when Jack arrived at their table.  
He groaned and threw an elbow into Bobby's side, wondering how the name had spread so quickly. Jack was satisfied as Bobby grunted, and he pulled him to the side.

"Please, Bobby. Please." He put on what he hoped was the same face he had used when he was younger to get Bobby to drive him somewhere or to stay in his room until he fell asleep after a nightmare. He didn't explain his plea further, but Bobby understood.

Bobby looked defeated for a moment, letting Jack assume he played the face right, and then he pulled Jack closer by his jacket.

"Alright, I won't, but you hit me like that again and I'll tell everyone here every embarrassing story I can come up with."

Jack bit back a smile. Sometimes it was so easy to play Bobby.

XXX

Jack was drunk. No, he was shit-faced.

He stood around the table in the corner of the crowded bar with his group of friends. It was the exact kind of bar Jack hated: trendy and packed with guys wearing designer threads and girls in five inch heels and little else. Jack preferred the places with character, places tourists didn't know about and New York's elite didn't care about. There was a little dive a couple blocks over that Jack loved to go to and just hang out. He usually went alone and found himself people-watching and comparing the live band to his own. It wasn't in the best neighborhood, so it was always interesting seeing the crazies that came through the door.

Jack was pounding back whiskey after whiskey, using beer as chasers. He'd long ago, passed the _this-should-be-my-last-drink _stage, and was fully emerged in _I'm-gonna-black-out-any-second_ territory.

Jack went to the bar, ordering a bourbon, only to be turned down.

"Sorry, man. You're cut off. Here's your tab." The bartender held out a little slip of paper. Jack took it, unable to come up with a reason for the guy to let him drink.

"Hey, you ready?" He hadn't noticed Bobby sitting at the bar.

Jack nodded. "Where've you been all night," he said, or meant to say, at least. Given Bobby's expression, Jack guessed he messed up a few words.

To Jack's relief, Bobby had left his side almost as soon as they got into the place. Jack had started to feel guilty about ditching Bobby, but as the man continued to show back up at Jack's table a couple times throughout the night, Jack stopped feeling guilty and started to feel like Bobby was keeping tabs on him.

Jack wouldn't have minded if Bobby had stayed with the group if he would just keep his mouth shut, but he knew Bobby couldn't do that, so he didn't bring it up. Jack liked spending time with Bobby, he looked up to his older brother in a way that wasn't always good for his well-being, but he didn't care for the idea of Bobby hanging out with him when he was with his friends. Jack was a different guy around his friends than he was around his family. Jack was a tough guy compared to most of the people he hung out with. He was cool and bold and sometimes a little crazy. But to Bobby, he was quiet and damaged and in need of protection.

"I was sitting at the bar. I met a couple Rangers fans, had to set 'em straight." He grinned and pulled Jack's arm over his shoulder, helping him stand. Seeing the paper clutched in Jack's hand, Bobby asked, "So you got somebody's number? This'll be your first, huh? I'll give you some pointers on how to treat a lady. You ever heard of '_Wham bam thank you, ma'am'?_"

"Bill," Jack mumbled, trying to fight the sudden, rising need to throw up.

Bobby looked surprised for a second, grabbed the paper from Jack, and sighed. "Jesus."

"Huh?" Jack's brain was having a hard time keeping up.

"Nothin' ya fairy. You pay this already?"

Jack nodded, and grabbed his head, making a mental note not to do that again.

"Bullshit." Bobby looked at the bill again. "This is seventy dollars, Jack. You got that kinda money?" Bobby abruptly pulled away and Jack staggered to his right, directly into the wall, which he used for support.

"Ain't gotta. Let's just get outta here."  
"Jack. The bartender is a foot away. He just heard you say that."

"We'll just run."

Bobby suddenly looked mad, and Jack really didn't understand why. Bobby took a step toward him. He was right in his face, and if Jack wasn't so drunk, he would've been shaking from Bobby's sudden anger. As it was, he was just confused, which led him to be frustrated, which was starting to make Jack mad too.

Bobby snorted. "Run?" You're out of your fucking mind, kid! You can't even stand on your own. You think that wall's gonna run with you or something, keep you propped up?"  
Jack made a move to step away from the wall, proving he could stand, but his feet forgot to move and he fell straight into a nearby table. He banged his head hard, but managed to catch the chair before falling completely onto the ground. He pulled himself into the seat and laid his head on the table, not wanting to look at Bobby.

"Good you can stay there." Bobby went to the bar and paid Jack's bill before turning back to his pathetic-looking brother.

* * *

Thank you for reading and for the reviews.

This is only going to be a short story. There are about three chapters left.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack was jerked up from the table by his arm.

"Let's go." Bobby draped his arm over his shoulder and wrapped an arm around his waist.

Jack wanted to pull away, but he had enough sense to know he needed Bobby right then. His head was spinning and his legs felt like spaghetti.

"What the hell was all that about?" Bobby grunted after a block of hobbling.

"Hmm?"

"What was that? You're drunk as shit. You tried to run out on the tab. What's with you?"

"I'm not drunk." It was stupid, he knew it was, and he knew just what Bobby was going to do before he did it.

Jack stumbled into a building as Bobby let go of him. Bobby caught him before he could run into it, but the action was enough to make Jack lose his stomach. He bent over, puking in the doorway to some old shop.

"You're not drunk?" Bobby stood behind Jack, keeping a steady hand on his back, and righting him every time he swayed, threatening to fall.

"Well?" Bobby asked when the puking was over and Jack was leaning against the bricks.

"Well what?" His voice was raw.

"Well, what's with you and walls? Whenever you get drunk, you're running to one. I mean, they're a step up from guys, but Jackie, walls don't have vaginas either."  
Jack glared at him, but couldn't stop a smile.

"What's wrong, Jackie?" Bobby was serious again.

"Nothing." He pushed off the wall, having gained some control over his body. "Nothing is wrong. I'm a little short on money, ok? Don't act like you've never stole shit, Bobby."

"Jack, we're not talking about me here. Why'd you buy those drinks if you couldn't afford them?"

Jack let out an exasperated breath of air. "I was hanging out with friends, Bobby. I lost track of how much I drank. Shit happens." He knew what Bobby was insinuating and it really pissed him off. Jack may be a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid. "You're grasping, Bobby. Whatever you think you're gonna find, isn't here."

"Bullshit, Jack. You can pull whatever little rebellious punk shit you want at home, but you can't run out on checks and act like an idiot here. There's no one here to watch your back."

"My band's here. My music's here." He was winding down as the words became more than just something to yell.

"Oh, really? You don't seem to play very often, for loving it so much. All you've done this week is get drunk and sleep 'til dinner. You played more at home. When's the last time you even wrote a song, Jack?"

Jack remembered how he'd noticed his lyric book sitting on the couch the other day. He hadn't so much as touched the book in well over a year. It had been lying on the window sill next to Jack's bed, where it served dual purposes: it was near if Jack woke up with an idea, and it was in clear sight for the girls he brought over. Bobby had been snooping on him.

Bobby nodded, already knowing the answer. "This isn't worth it, Jack. Plucking a few strings in a city full of wannabes isn't worth losing how far you've come."

He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or Bobby's accusations, but Jack was suddenly very brazen. "You would trade your whole damn life in to play pro-hockey, but you're telling me to just give up because I'm closer to a record deal than you are to the Stanley Cup." His words were steel, and he would have continued his tirade of reasons Bobby was being ridiculous, but Bobby cut him off, pushing Jack against the wall and planting his forearm against his throat.

Jack tried to push him off, but really, it was no match.

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about, kid." He pressed his forearm deeper into Jack before turning around.

Jack, breathing heavily and with a hand over his throat, watched as Bobby walked down the street, not looking back.

XXX

"Dude what are you doing?"

Jack looked up from his sandwich. "Huh?"

"Who're you talking to?"  
Jack turned back to his lunch, not realizing he had been muttering out loud.

"Where's your brother?"

Jack shrugged. From what he could tell, Bobby hadn't come back to the apartment after their fight. Part of him wondered what the hell Bobby had managed to spend the rest of the night and the majority of the day doing. But another part of him was still too pissed to care.

He was pissed that Bobby called him out on his shit. He was so pissed, that he said things he shouldn't have. He regretted it the very second he said it, knowing it hit below the belt, but Bobby's anger had fueled his, and his arm blocking Jack's air intake made it literally impossible to take it back. Usually it was Bobby who ended a conversation with some jackass remark, and although the one-up on Bobby felt nice, Jack could remember how it felt after one of those low blows, and it made him feel like shit.

For a second, Jack felt nervous, but he couldn't quite figure out why. It wasn't like Bobby had anything on him. Not really. If he knew about half the shit Jack was doing or had done since moving to the city, Jack's ass would've been beaten already. All Bobby knew was that jack got drunk a lot, which wasn't exactly insane behavior for a twenty year old. And the fact that jack hasn't written music in so long? So what? Jack didn't have the statistics on it, but he'd be willing to bet that even the best bands had droughts. Yeah, Bobby was just being his usual over-protective asshole self.

"You Mercer boys, you can pick up a chick anywhere can't you?" He grabbed a drink from the fridge. "Anyway, we have to be downstairs in half an hour. Tricks called a band meeting." He rolled his eyes before leaving the kitchen.

Self-nicknamed Tricks, was the lead singer of the band. He was always calling meetings about his newest, greatest idea to become rich and famous, like putting a billboard in Times Square, or setting up a kissing booth to raise money to record a song. He was a great singer, his deep, rough voice marrying the songs so well—but he wasn't the best business man.

XXX

"Alright already. What's the big announcement, Tricks? You found enough money for that billboard?"

Tricks was walking back and forth while the rest of the band sat on the couch before him.

"Billy, this is serious." He stopped pacing and stood before the couch they were sitting. He took a deep breath. "This band hasn't really been going where I want it to. I was hoping to be further along than we are. We have no following, no record deals, hell, we don't even have fucking tee-shirts for sale."

"Why don't you get to the fucking point, Tricks." Hank stood up, making them nose to nose in the small room.

"I'm leaving _Brutal Exit_." Jack almost snorted at the irony.

"What the fuck are you gonna do then, huh? Put up a billboard of yourself in Times Square? You think that'll bring the chicks banging on your door?"

Jack stood as Hank shoved Tricks back into the wall.

Jack wasn't all that surprised at the announcement. Tricks had always been in it for the girls and fame, with no real investment in the music. Jack had always known he'd sell out one day, but the band needed a singer and Trick's voice was pretty good.

"I'm lined up to sing for another band."  
"Maybe you should just go," Jack spoke as Hank pressed his chest harder into Tricks.

Tricks walked out of the room and seconds later, the bar owner walked in.

"You ready? You guys are on in five."

Jack picked up his guitar case from the only open corner in the room. "We're not playing tonight, Kevin."

"What the fuck ya mean you ain't playin'? I have a room full 'a people out there and I want your asses on stage."

"Yeah, Jack. We can't just skip out because Tricks fucked us over. The band comes before shit like that."

"How're we gonna play? We have no lead singer." He turned to the guys. "Hell, we don't even have a fucking name."

"You'll sing," Billy spoke up. "You have the closest voice to his. You sang backup before anyway. Without Tricks we'll only have you on guitar so the songs'll be a little flat, but I'll try to make up for some of it."

Jack thought Billy was crazy. He had to be crazy for thinking Jack could jump around the stage or play with the audience like the lead singer had to. Jack shook his head and reached for the door.

"Look, kid. You're not getting outta this gig. Kapeesh?" Kevin grabbed his arm.

Kevin owned the few apartments above the bar, as well as the bar itself. He'd offered them a couple hundred off rent if they played a set every Wednesday. The guys agreed without a second thought, knowing a deal like that wouldn't come around again. Even though they played on one of the slowest nights, the band had begun noticing some regulars in the crowd week after week. It was nothing huge, but it was a start.

"C'mon, Jack. Just for tonight and then we'll work something else out." Hank put a hand on his back.

After a few shots of whiskey for courage and a look at the picture of Evelyn taped to his guitar case for strength, Jack walked on stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, _Brutal Exit_," Kevin announced in a low voice that made Jack think of a poetry reading in the library, not a crowded bar in the lower east side.

Jack grabbed the mic, remembering how Tricks had named the band, and wanting nothing to do with that tool.

"Actually, we _were_ Brutal Exit, but that's gone to bigger and better things," he spoke sarcastically, realizing that the crowd had no idea what he was talking about, and that he was most likely making a fool out of himself and the band. "We're just what's leftover. We're the spares."

He hadn't really meant to be so insightful, he was just rambling, as sometimes liquor made him, but after he said it, he realized he liked the sound. He turned to look at Hank on drums and Billy on bass, shrugging. They both smiled and nodded so he assumed they liked it too.

"We're The Spares," he announced one more time before Hank counted out and they began their set.

* * *

I still don't own anything Four Brothers.

I had an extra section in here, but decided it was way too long with it, so I took it out. If you caught it already, then you got a sneak peek of the next chapter ;)

Thank you SO MUCH for the reviews and favorite-ing and alert-ing. It means so much!


	4. Chapter 4

After a rough beginning but a pretty solid finish, Jack put down his guitar and crashed onto the couch in the back room of the bar. He wanted so badly to light up a joint and heighten his high from performing, but he had noticed Bobby in the crowd.

He left his seat as the other guys lit up and the sweet smell filled the closet-sized room.

"Hey." He dropped into the seat next to Bobby.

"Gimme a couple shots," Bobby called to the bartender as he clapped Jack on the back.

Jack took the gesture as an apology for their fight the night before, even if Bobby didn't intend for it to be. Jack smiled a little and held Bobby's gaze, hoping he got the same message.

Jack threw back the drink and slammed it on the bar just a second after Bobby.

"So?" Jack nodded to the stage after an internal debate where his curiosity beat out his instincts.

A small smile played on Bobby's lips.

Jack waited in anticipation as Bobby stared at him. It seemed like he was thinking hard about something, and Jack was about to make a joke about it when Bobby finally spoke.

"Looks like you're the star of you own little fairytale."

Jack's smile disappeared, but he tried not to take it to heart. In his own weird way, maybe that was compliment from Bobby.

"It was the first time I've ever sang lead. Tricks quit on us ten minutes before we went on." Jack's tone was defensive.

"Yeah, that whole '_we're leftovers'_ thing was pretty corny." Bobby grinned, clearly teasing Jack. He leaned back from the bar, picking up his glass and turning it over in his hands. "Maybe it's time to get your head out of the clouds and do something with your life." Bobby spoke quietly, honestly, and he didn't look Jack in the eye as he said it—an action that told Jack Bobby knew just how much his words would hurt.

Jack stared at his brother a long while, feeling like he'd been sucker punched.

Jack didn't realize just how desperate he was for Bobby's approval until it was thrown in his face that he didn't have it. Jack had brought Bobby to all the places he thought he'd appreciate during his visit. He'd brought him out with his friends. He invited him to see his band play. He wanted to show Bobby he'd done okay in the city, that he'd done something with the life Evelyn helped him salvage.

But Bobby didn't see it that way. He saw Jack drowning in bills and fucking around with his guitar. He didn't see things the way Jack did, he never had. But Jack had always known that.

Music was one of the most important things in the world to him, his music and his family, and he couldn't choose between the two. He really couldn't, but it was beginning to feel like that's exactly what Bobby was doing: giving him an ultimatum. It's either him or the music.

"Ma didn't want you to come out here just to waste your life on some pipe dream."

Jack stood up, knocking his stool to the ground, and walked away.

XXX

Jack groaned as something hit him in the back. He tried to ignore it and get back to that deep sleep he'd been in, but something hit him even harder in the head, and he suddenly realized the yelling around him, like someone had just turned on the radio.

Jack turned on his side, propping himself up on an elbow and squinting into the room.

"What the fuck?" He finally found his voice as he realized Bobby was pulling the girl Jack had brought home the night before, out of the bedroom. His face grew hot as he realized she was wearing very little. Jack went to stand up, but remembered he was wearing even less.

"What are you fucking doing, Bobby? Jesus," Jack asked from his resigned place on the bed, blankets wrapped around him.

"What would your little boyfriend say if he found you cheating on him with this little skank?" Bobby sent Jack a grin and he pulled the topless girl from the room by her wrists. "I'm doing you a favor, Jackie. Them fairies can pack quiet a little bitch slap."

The girl, Kelly or Kate or something, turned to look at Jack, a look of confusion and slight disgust on her face.

"I'm not gay," Jack said lamely, while he searched for his boxers.

"Get your fucking hands off me." She broke free of Bobby and reached down for her skirt. Jack would've bet she'd be running out of there even if Bobby wasn't ushering her out.

"Damn it, Bobby. Leave her alone. She's getting her stuff." Jack had found his boxers and a shirt and grabbed the girl's skimpy red top from the foot of the bed. This part of the "date" was always awkward enough—that rock 'n roll high was gone, making Jack not who he'd been the night before, not as bold and not as cocky, and a lot less tolerant of some stranger following him around his apartment. But as much as he wanted the chick gone, he really didn't want it to be because his big brother carried her out. He chased after Bobby, who had her to the front door and was pushing her into the hall.

"Bobby let her get dressed." He turned to her, giving her the shirt. "Sorry, Carrie."

His apologetic smile slid off his face as she barked, "Candice," grabbed her skirt and walked out the door.

"You can't fucking throw people out of my house!" Jack didn't normally yell at Bobby; He chose to play him soft and subtly. Yelling and fighting, Jack was no match for the man.

"If they are people like that, I'm sure as fuck going to throw them out."

"What do you mean _people like that_?" Jack realized Candice could probably hear them from where she was pulling up her skirt on the other side of the door, but Jack's embarrassment and frustration at Bobby's misplaced entitlement, outweighed his sympathy. She wasn't that great anyway.

"Oh, c'mon, Jack. You're too good for shit like that. People like that are going to drag you down." He held his hands up. "All these shitheads are going to bring you down. This _city_ is going to bring you down."

He thought of Hank, the best friend he's ever had, and even Tricks, whom he'd come from Detriot with, and almost shook with anger at his brother. "They're my friends, Bobby. They're here for me." He didn't intend its implications, but once it was out there he hoped Bobby got the message.

By the look on Bobby's face, he got it.

"They're not going to let me down."

"They already have, Jack." Bobby spoke quietly.

Jack shook his head, frustrated that Bobby wouldn't listen. He was accusing him of fucking up, and for once in his life, he was actually doing alright for himself.

Jack stormed to his room, picked up the first pair of pants he came across and grabbed his denim jacket before walking to the front door and slamming it as he left.

XXX

The cocaine was therapeutic. As the powder entered his system, his anger and frustration vanished, and he laughed and joked and sang at the top of his lungs, the sound bouncing off all the metal in the kitchen.

He had spent the day in Central Park, a place he hadn't ever been, and he vowed to never go to again. He sat on a bench, watching a guy play his guitar, his case open before him. Jack had hoped he'd never have to do that: practically beg for handouts. He didn't think he'd ever be able to.

He continued watching the old, unshaven man for hours. He noticed the way he closed his eyes at some parts of songs. He bounced his leg to the beat and asked if anyone had requests. He looked genuinely happy sitting there, legs crossed on the cold ground, playing somebody else's songs, with no chance of a passerby remembering him.

And that made Jack wonder. Maybe he was in it for the wrong reasons. Sure, when he started out, he played guitar purely for the love of it. But maybe the city _had_ sort of corrupted him. Jack hadn't really thought of it before, but playing in New York definitely didn't feel like playing in Detroit, not since day one, not even when he was just strumming in his bedroom. New York had a coldness to it, a seriousness, and a pressure to do bigger and better. Jack thought it ironic that the city full of lights and energy and _life_, wasn't a source for inspiration as much as little, old Detroit.

Jack still loved playing his guitar. He loved writing and performing his own music. But he loved playing his guitar _for people_. He wrote songs to _perform_ them for crowds. Not for himself, not anymore.

He wondered when it had become more business than creativity. Than love.

Maybe Bobby was right.

Jack had spent the whole day at that park, thinking and wondering until it was time to go to work. He decided that he was just letting Bobby, and his need to fix things that aren't broken, get under his skin. Jack had always been a thinker, Evelyn said most artists were. It was another trait that divided him from his brothers. But it was the very trait that made him close to the guys in the band.

Snorting coke in the kitchen of _Ria_ with his coworkers, was helping Jack forget all that shit, though.

"Jack, make us a fucking pizza already. I'm starving over here."

"Make it yourself." He was chatting up, Jenny, a waitress he'd always had a crush on, but he never really got to talk to her until the place was closed and the drugs were in his system.

Jenny laughed as AJ flung pizza dough at Jack.

Jack pulled a chunk from his hair and took a bite. "You know what? This is actually better than when it's cooked." He held some out to Jenny, who just laughed and ducked behind him as another employee pulled out the tub of sauce, aiming a handful at AJ.

AJ fell to his knee, a hand held to his chest where the majority of the red sauce landed. "Go on without me, my friends. Save yourselves."

The room erupted into laughter and a full-on food fight began. Meats, vegetables, and every sauce in the kitchen were thrown at someone or another. The war made it out into the dining area, where tables were quickly overturned for cover.

It seemed everyone ran out of ammunition at around the same time, and the hearty laughter died into a relaxed happiness.

"It's getting pretty late. Guess we should scram."

Jack nodded, pulling himself off the ground and dusting as much food off him as he could. He noticed Jenny on the ground and walked over to her, thinking it'd be terribly romantic (to her, at least) if he kissed her. He held a hand down to her. She grabbed it, beginning to laugh again—something Jack hoped was due to the drugs and not her personality. He pulled her close, his arms wrapped around her—

When there was a loud knock at the window of the restaurant. Jack looked over to see his older brother, standing in the cold, a look of bewilderment on his face as he looked through the glass.

Jack burst out laughing again, thinking his brother's face was the funniest thing on earth at the moment.

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Thank you so much for the reviews! The next chapter should be the last.


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